“Breathe,” a low voice said gently.  “Breathe.  Take your time and when you’re ready, open your eyes.”

Ornette took in the deep breath the voice recommended and then said saucily, “What?  No kiss?”

“No kiss,” the man’s voice confirmed.

With her eyes still closed, Ornette had no idea who she was talking to.  When she was put to sleep in cryostasis, she had specified what kind of contract she was looking for.  She wanted to be sold to a man for no more than two years, the sum of money was non-negotiable, and she had to be sold for her expertise in fashion.  She had refused to be sent out toward Mars and Jupiter, which meant that her contract had to be on Earth, the Earth’s moon, or Venus.  With that, she had been put in cryostasis.

Her worry when she wasn’t kissed was that she had been left on the shelf at Sleeping Beauty Inc. for too long and she hadn’t received a contract at all.  That would have been very unfortunate for Ornette.  She had sold herself repeatedly, but she didn’t have a penny to her name.  No kiss could mean that she hadn’t been sold.

Preparing herself for the worst, she opened her eyes.  

The man standing over her cryochamber was unfamiliar.  He wasn’t the pilot who usually transferred her between the Earth and Luna.  The first thing she noticed about him was the way he was dressed, which she found encouraging because his clothes did not have a Sleeping Beauty Inc. logo on them.

He looked tall from where she lay in the cryochamber, but she knew that angle was deceiving.  He had white hair that did not look artificial; not dyed and not a wig.  It looked naturally white.  He had grayed completely young.  He gave her a crooked smile that marked him as neither young nor old by how many creases appeared in his skin when he moved.  

Ornette looked at him with wide eyes.  

Even though he didn’t look like a Sleeping Beauty Inc. employee, he also didn’t look like a buyer.  He was wearing a white T-shirt that gently hugged his form and white trousers that didn’t have a touch of dirt on them.  

The cleanliness was normal.  One glance at the room around them and Ornette knew exactly where she was.  She was in the bedroom of a Cannonball III solarship.  

“What’s going on?” she asked, keeping her voice low to match his.

He had three matching silver bracelets on one wrist that projected a tiny hologram of a to-do list and a fourth bracelet on his other wrist.  The three on the one wrist were fascinating.  They did not touch each other but stayed an equal distance from each other without clanging together.

“If you’re awake, we can get started.  My name is Desmond and I’m here to give you a touch-up,” he said smoothly.

Ornette put her perfectly manicured fingers to her cheeks.  “Why do I need a touch-up?  When they put me to sleep, I was perfect.”

“Your cryochamber wasn’t tampered with, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Desmond said as he offered her a hand up.  

She took it and let him lift her up to a sitting position and then onto the floor.

“No.  The problem is that your hair and makeup were not done to a high enough standard,” he said, leading her toward the vanity mirror and dressing table.

Ornette looked at herself in the mirror.  She looked exactly the same as she had when she had been approved by the head stylist at Sleeping Beauty Inc. Headquarters, North America Division.  She looked polished and professional, but better than usual.  It was what she usually looked like when she was sold.

She raised an eyebrow at Desmond and drew an invisible circle around her face.  “This isn’t good enough?”

He took her left hand in his and showed it to her.

Under her Sleeping Beauty Inc. bracelet, there were burn marks that weren’t quite covered by the makeup the head stylist had applied to her hand.

“I’ve seen tattoos covered better,” he said without emotion before pushing her bracelet as far down as it would go toward her knuckles.  Then he popped open a bottle of cleansing solution and started cleaning the area.  “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you not on holiday until the burn marks had vanished?”

Ornette directed her gaze toward the ceiling like she was a dumb girl who was trying to search her limited mind for an answer… Or perhaps she looked away in the same way a person looks away when they are getting blood drawn and they don’t want to see the needle.

“Uh…” she finally said.  “My skin doesn’t turn flesh-colored on that wrist anymore.  Most of the time, I cover it as best I can with makeup.  The stylist who was working on me used the same makeup palette I’ve always been sent to cover it.  Are you saying it’s not good enough?”

She didn’t see Desmond’s face, but she heard him answer.  “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Has Sleeping Beauty Inc. developed a new kind of makeup to cover it?” she asked, feeling the tremor in her left hand acting up.

Girls who were sold for temporary contracts were sometimes administered electrical shocks through their bracelets if they disobeyed their masters.  The dark skin under Ornette’s bracelet was proof that Ornette had been shocked many times.

“No,” Desmond answered.  “But that doesn’t mean that other technologies haven’t been developed elsewhere.  He took Ornette’s right wrist in his hand and with a handheld scanner, he scanned the skin of her unblemished wrist.  “This will tell me the right color mixture for the inside of your wrist, and the outside of your wrist.  I’ll mix the colors and apply them.  Then, I’ll give you enough makeup to keep it covered for as long as your current contract lasts.  Try not to get a tan.”

“Do you know who bought me?” she asked, her left wrist trembling again.  She hid it in the folds of her dress.  It didn’t seem like Desmond noticed.  He was busy comparing the different colors of her skin.

“I can’t tell you,” he answered absently.  “It’s imperative that it remains a surprise.”

“It’s working in fashion though, right?” she asked him eagerly, hoping desperately that the lines of her desired contract hadn’t been blurred by her seller.

He looked at her blankly, like he was the kind of locked box that never cracked.

“Come on,” she pleaded in a voice of panic.  “You can tell me that much, can’t you?  Will I be working in fashion, or not?”

His head bobbed a fraction.

Ornette let out a relieved sigh and took a few deep breaths to stabilize herself.

“Is it that big of a deal?  That you’ll be working in fashion?” he asked gently as he transferred the reading from the scanner.  

Ornette nearly screamed, but she stifled it.  “Yes,” she said tightly.  “It’s very important.  If I’m going to work in fashion after this, I have to have enough experience to start a career.”

“So, you get work experience as a model as well as the bucks to fund it?” he said without emotion as he fiddled with a machine on the floor that Ornette realized was the foundation mixer.

“Who gets the bucks?” she said with a sudden giggle.  “Not me, but it sure would be nice if it worked that way.”

“So, where does the money you earn go if you don’t get it?” Desmond asked, peering at her with his navy eyes.  

For a second, Ornette was transfixed by his navy eyes.  They had tiny lines of white light in them like white thread on the fabric of the night sky.

He waited for her to answer and she realized she was staring.  

Ornette had been working with Sleeping Beauty Inc. too long to stick her nose up at the therapy sessions offered by hair stylists and makeup artists.  She took every scrap of advice and sympathy they had to offer.

“Sorry,” she fumbled.  “Debt.  I’ve had debt.  Most of it is paid off, so I should get about half of my fee this time around.”

“And then you’re out?” he asked, acting like a hairdresser making conversation while the makeup poured.

“If I’m lucky, I’ll be out.  Half of my fee this time should have me squared off.  The other half should pay the damage deposit on a flat.  If I can’t get a job doing something better than this, I’ll be back.  If I can’t make rent, I’ll be back.  If I have to run away from someone, I’ll be back.”

“Who would you have to run away from?” Desmond asked curiously.

That was the moment when Ornette realized that she was not talking to a typical stylist.  A typical stylist would know dozens of people a woman who looked like Ornette would have to run from.  

Ornette glanced at herself in the mirror.  Her blonde hair was unreal in its color.  It was naturally blonde, but not that naturally blonde.  It had been almost white when she was a child but had become increasingly dark as she matured.  Her last hair treatment had been unusually well done.  The stylist felt sorry for her blackened wrist and gave her special care.  Otherwise, Ornette had a very pretty nose that did all kinds of heavy lifting with buyers.  The nose was natural, so it was much prettier than the girls who’d had their noses fixed.  Otherwise, she had blue/green eyes and held her own well when compared to other blondes.  She was a Cinderella model, but if she had been two inches shorter, she would have been a Thumbelina.  Ornette had a slight skeleton.  She always thought that was the biggest reason she had been abused by her owners in the past.  When hit, she really flew across a room.  When she thudded against a wall, she barely made a sound.

All of a sudden, she needed an explanation.  “Who are you?  What’s your job at Sleeping Beauty Inc.?”

He dropped his gaze.  “I don’t work for Sleeping Beauty Inc.”

Ornette’s jaw dropped.  “Then why are you here, aboard a Cannonball III?  Why are you putting makeup on me?  Why are you able to touch me without shocking me?”

“I…” He stumbled for the correct word and then landed on it like a champ.  “I represent your buyer.  I’m acting as his proxy getting you ready for the moment when he opens your cryochamber.”

“Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you.  It’s part of the surprise.”

“Where are we?”

“Outer space.”

“Are we going to the moon or Venus?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said evasively.  

At that moment, the makeup mixer finished the first color.  Desmond opened the slot and removed the finished product.  It was the paler shade that was supposed to go on the inner part of her forearm.  He transferred the information for the darker shade to the mixer and started applying her makeup.

When he touched her, she started trembling again.    

“Do you shake like that because of all the past shocks?” he asked gently.

“Uh… Maybe,” she said, trying hard to stay still and failing at it.  

It wasn’t that she was bad at controlling her tremor, it was that he was touching her.  She always trembled when men touched her.  She watched him sponge the makeup down.  He wasn’t doing it with his bare fingers, but his other hand was holding hers.  His thumb was over her bracelet to keep it out of the way and his grip was meant to keep her still.   It wasn’t working, but it didn’t matter that much.  It wasn’t like the makeup on her arm needed to be as precise as the makeup on her face.

“Ornette,” he said.

The use of her name brought her eyes up to meet his.  His gaze was very steady and the look on his face was nothing like the way her buyers looked at her right before everything went wrong.  Looking into his eyes, she matched his breathing and felt the knots in her shoulders unwind.

“Good,” he said as he finished the first application.  “Listen, I’m going to do something special for you.”

“You can do something special for me?” she asked incredulously as he let go of her hand.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his set of three bracelets close to hers.  “Right now, for all intents and purposes, I’m your owner, so I have the authority to do this.  I’m going to lower the voltage on your bracelet.”  He put his index finger to his lips.  “You can’t tell anyone about this.  The longer you and I can keep this secret, the better it will be for you.  I’m going to lower it to a level where you will still feel it if you’re shocked, but it won’t hurt you.  I’m sure you know how to act if you’re shocked so that you can convince anyone that it is still working.”

“You’re kind.”  Ornette smiled, a little condescendingly.  “Try it.”

“Why?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I’m worried you’ll set the voltage too low and I won’t be able to feel it at all,” she explained.

“I can’t do a sample shock.  Your bracelet would send a special notification to your new owner.  What voltage would you recommend I set it?”

She gave him a number.

He set it.

Then he applied the dark makeup on the outer portion of her wrist.  When he was finished, Ornette had to admit that her left wrist looked exactly like her unblemished right wrist.  Desmond put the finished makeup tubes in her overnight bag.  That was what they called the essential bag every Sleeping Beauty Inc. model kept with her during transfers.

“Is that all we have to do before you put me back to sleep?” she asked, taking a moment to stretch her arms as much as her gown would allow her.

“Uh… The makeup on your face isn’t very good,” he admitted hesitantly.

“You want to redo it?”

He nodded.